Lean On Me
by Gandalf3213
Summary: Sequel to Without You. After the death of the Hardys parents, Frank and Joe finally start to settle into a new life.When a terrifying case comes to their attention, they realize that they're putting thier lives, and everything they believe in, in jeopardy
1. Thinking

**Don't own the Hardys. Don't think I ever will.**

_"I think that people who ahve a brother or a sister don't realize how lucky they are. Sure, they fight a lot, but it's nice to know there's always someone there. Someone that's family." __**Trey Parker & Matt Stone**_

Frank was sitting cross-legged in the big chair that used to be his father's, flipping idly through a well-worn copy of some of Sherlock Holmes' greatest mysteries. Soon his brother would be home, and the quiet peace of the house would be disturbed by his rowdy younger brother, but Frank savored these few moments of silence.

Since their parents' death three months earlier, the brothers had done everything they could to help each other and keep together. Frank, assuming the challenging role of legal guardian, had gotten a job on the Bayport Police Force. He only worked mornings and week-ends for now, but he hoped that his position would change with time, and even the little money he brought in helped.

The house had been paid off by their parents years before, and they had left them a good amount of money when they died in the car crash, so Frank wasn't really worried about money. He was worried about Joe.

After the initial shock, Joe had thrown himself with surprising force at...everything. Seeming to think that he could erase the pain by being able to tackle harder or make good grades, he had attacked school with a ferocity that made Frank both proud and worried. Joe had made the varsity football team as a Junior and was the first-string running back. His grades, which was been okay before, were now almost perfect, with just one or two B's. He seemed like the model kid.

And there were very few changes. They were closer than ever, Frank and Joe, especially since they had started sleeping in the same room again. Joe had gotten terrible nightmares after their parents death that didn't entirely fade away even with Frank sleeping with him. He would still wake up screaming at night, though less frequently.

The other change, and it was a big one for the Hardy's, was the lack of cases. They hadn't been approached by anyone in Bayport, most people seeming to know their situation, and outside cases used to come from their father's own private detective agency. At first Frank didn't know what to do with himself without the constant string of cases, but he had almost settled into a normal life. Almost.

Glancing at the clock, Frank frowned. Joe was late. He should have been home a half-hour ago, since there was no football practice today. Sighing, he made a mental note to talk to Joe about it when eh got back.

Callie was happy, at least. She and most of Frank's friends were at college, of course, but both Callie and Chet had opted for the community college. Chet had switched right after his own sister's death in April, but Callie hadn't until July, when the Hardy's parents died so suddenly. Despite Frank's many protest, she maintained that she was happy with the school, and was glad that she could be so close to Frank and Joe.

Sometimes Frank found himself regretting giving up college. He knew of kids who would have made the other, easier choice. But Frank could leave his brother. Joe meant more to him than anything in the world.

All of his friends kept in touch. Tony and Phil, both at out-of-state schools, would write and e-mail often, promising to see them at the holidays. Biff went to the State University, on a full football scholarship. He came home on weekends when they didn't have games. Callie and Chet were over constantly, and it wasn't uncommon for one of them to just walk into the house..

The book slipped from Frank's hands as the front door banged open. Chet burst in, his face red with exertion. A limp body was held in his arms. Frank gasped, standing up, his heart beating double as he rushed over to the limp form of his little brother.

**You know me, I have to have a cliff-hanger. So do you like it? I thought the idea was too good to not have a sequel. Don't worry, a lot of action will come in future chapters.**

**As always, please review.**


	2. Bruises

**Sorry about making changes so early. It works better this way. We think...**

_How can people go through life without a brother? Peyton Wagner_

"Joe!" The name escaped from his lips as Chet lowered the young blond boy to the floor, his chest heaving as he leaned against the doorframe, his compassionate brown eyes worried as he too examined Joe.

Frank quickly checked his brother over. Bruises covered most of his exposed body and several cuts looked deep enough to need stitches, but there was no broken bones. Carefully prying open one of his brother's eyelids, he breathed out a sigh of relief. No concussion. He should be waking up soon.

Trying to convince himself that Joe would be alright, Frank turned to Chet. "Where...?" he asked, unable to get more out before he turned back to Joe. He beat back his emotions, surprising himself at how strong they were. Joe had been hurt before. Why was this any different?

Chet spoke quickly, his face flushed red as he tried to convey what had happened. "I was on my way over here when I nearly ran him over. He was just lying in the middle of the street about two blocks away. I think he was trying to come home, but if I hadn't been watching I could have run him over."

Frank shuddered, feeling suddenly very cold. He had nearly lost the only family he had left. He could have, very easily, lost his little brother.

"Do you know what happened?" A brief glance back at his brother's wounds told him that another person, or probably more like two or three, had been involved, beating every inch of skin they could.

Chet shook his head 'no', his eyes widening slightly as Joe stirred with a feeble groan. Frank bent over his brother anxiously, letting out a small shout of relief when he opened his eyes blearily and began to sit up.

"Not yet, bro. You're pretty hurt there." He tried to keep his voice light, but even he could hear the anxiety in it as Joe's eyes closed in sudden pain. "What happened?" he couldn't' keep the anger out of his voice. He wanted to kill whoever had done this.

Joe shook his head slightly, frowning slightly as he tried to remember. Chet, who had left momentarily, came back with antibiotics and gauze. He started to wrap up the bigger of Joe's cuts as he tried to explain, his voice high.

"I know I'm late, Frank. I'm sorry..." Frank waved that away. It didn't matter at all now. "What happened?" he said again, more firmly, as he helped Joe sit all the way up.

"I was just about to start walking home. Actually, I was alone today." Joe's eyebrows came together. "I shouldn't have been, but everyone I usually get rides with were out. So I walked." Frank nodded, urging his brother to keep going.

Trying to piece together his story as he talked, Joe said, slowly, "I was only about a block away from the school when I saw these...guys. I only stopped because a couple looked like they were my age, or maybe a little younger. And these other guys were older, mostly. Like, maybe twenty. I must have been standing there for about two minutes when one of them saw me and..." he closed his eyes again, his breathing becoming more rapid as he remembered what had happened.

"It's okay, Buddy. I know what happened after that." Frank kept his voice soothing, even though inside he was boiling with anger. It must have been three or four against one. Helping his brother stand up, he supported him to the couch. Even the small trip left him shaking and sweaty.

Chet was by his side, looking at Joe for a long moment before saying, loud enough for them both to hear. "I think you have a new case."

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	3. Protective

_**Don't own it.**_

_Older brothers are naturally protective of their younger counterparts. It's nature's way of making sure they don't kill them. Wilfred Truquil_

Frank hadn't taken the case.

Everything in his being was telling him to. His soul seemed to be itching for a case, another chance to get the "bad guys". he and Joe had both loved doing it since they were little, solving smalls "crimes" in Grammar School, working with their father in Junior High and finally taking their own cases when Joe turned fourteen. Their mother had always thought Joe was too young.

And he was always targeted. Kidnapped, drugged, stalked, and beaten up more times than either of them wished to count. But they both had laughed it off, thinking that they were super heroes or something, because they were smart and young and cocky and thought they knew it all.

But this was different. Frank had to worry about his brother while trying to play dad and being his partner on the case. And if that wasn't enough, if Joe got hurt no social worker in their right mind would let the two of them stay together.

So Frank stayed out of it, trying to convince himself that it was nothing, that those guys were just looking for a fight and Joe just happened to, once again, be in the wrong place a the wrong time. And even though he wanted nothing more than to get those guys, especially when he looked at Joe's still bruised face, Frank didn't do anything.

He was smart enough to report it to the police though. He knew the force well enough, both from his earlier cases and his new job, to know that they would take care of it in any way they could. Joe was like the annoying little brother of the force. No one would let the people who hurt him get away with it.

And still, Frank found himself making suspect lists in his head. He cataloged all the people they had put in jail in the last rows into revenge and not revenge categories, taking little solace in the fact that the most dangerous criminal, a sadistic serial rapist, had not been the one to attack his brother.

A week passed. Joe, though his reckless spirit had been stemmed somewhat by the death of their parents, still took every opportunity to try to convince Frank to take it. His arguments were convincing, but Frank held firm.

Until the day a week after the attack. Joe had just come home from football practice and Callie was over. The three of them sat down in the dinning room over boiled hotdogs (three for Joe). The first words out of Joe's mouth were, "We need to take that case, Frank."

Frank rolled his eyes, a little frustrated that Joe kept bringing this up. "I said no, Joe. There's too much risk."

"That never bothered you before ―" he sounded like he was going to say more but didn't, instead staring defiantly at Frank.

"No, Joe." Frank said firmly. "We can't do this one, not yet."

Callie headed off the rest of the argument by saying, quickly. "What are those, Joe?" she asked, pointing to a few blue-black bruises on his forearm. Joe shook his sleeve down, but not before Frank noticed he bruises were in the shape of a hand.

"Nothing. They're from last week." Joe said. But Frank didn't remember seeing those last week. He shook his head. There had been so many bruises he probably just hadn't noticed them.

"Please. Frank." This time the words held a note of pleading, and Frank looked directly into his brother's eyes and saw something flicker there before covered up by a wall of defiance.

Fear. His brother was afraid of something. But what was it? Or who?

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	4. Threats

**I don't own them.**

_Brothers are sometimes our only protection in cold world of reality. **Leon Papastimal.**_

"What's going on?"

Frank had picked the time carefully. It was nearly ten o' clock, Callie had left two hours ago, and Joe had just come inside from tinkering with the van's ancient engine. His younger brother looked up at him, exhausted and dirty, eyes questioning.

"Nothing, Frank." His eyebrows drew together. "Wait...going on with what?"

Frank tried to keep from smiling but couldn't. Joe was always a little scatter-brained. Trying to force himself back into concerned brother mode, Frank plowed on, "Something's up, Joe. You keep coming home with bruises and you're...scared." Frank finished lamely.

Joe let out a forced laugh, "I play football, Frank. Bruises are part of the deal. And I'm not scared of anything, you know that."

The sad, scary part of the last statement was that it was true. Joe was cocky, smart, strong, and reckless, and therefore deemed himself invincible. This had, admittedly, gotten the brothers out of more than one scrape. Frank still shivered whenever he thought of what could have happened in Africa if Joe hadn't been there...

"But you're scared now." The fact was simple and undeniable. He was scared of something or someone as he never had before.

Joe didn't meet Frank's eyes, instead he rubbed his dirty hands on the pair of torn jeans he was wearing. Frank stared fixedly at him. Joe had never been able to lie.

"Yeah, I am." The words were quiet and Frank almost hadn't been able to hear them. Letting out a deep breath, Frank tried to figure out his next move. What he said here could either make Joe tell him exactly what was going on, or make him clam up.

Frank leaned against the oven, watching as Joe hopped onto a counter, plucking an orange from a bowl and tossing it back and forth, determained not to meet Frank's eyes. "There's some kids at school who want me to...and I think that it'd be easier if we...I think I need some help..." Joe sighed, putting the orange down, looking frustrated at not being able to convey his feelings.

"What about the beginning, Joe? When did this start?" Frank forced himself to remain calm. He had rarely seen Joe look this vulnerable and powerless. The last time he had that look in his eyes, their mom and dad had just died.

Joe seemed to be forcing all his thoughts into order. "Last week, when I said I saw those guys in the alley? I kind of...lied." Joe looked down at his shoes as if they were the most interesting things in the world. "They didn't just beat me up, they gave me an...well, they called it an "option". Either I joined their gang or group or whatever, or they'd beat me up."

Frank didn't know whether to hit Joe or be proud of him. He was tempted to yell, actually, for Joe hiding this from him.

"These people are all about drugs and...other stuff..." Joe looked suddenly scared, and met Frank's eyes for the first time. "I know it was stupid, Frank. I was being stupid for walking that way in the first place, but now..." Joe let out a small sound that sounded like a half-sob. "I think they know."

Frank wanted to scream. This was one of the most frustrating conversations he'd ever had. He had no idea that Joe was keeping so much from him, and his heart sank with a sudden idea. Did Joe trust him? Frank pushed the thought away. Now was not the time. In a voice of determained calm, he questioned. "They know what, Joe?"

Joe met his eyes once again. Frank coudl clearly see the half-healed gash on his face, the fading yellow of a black eye. "They know that I still remember, and that I know people who can put them in jail, and that you and I are detectives." Joe bit his lip, deciding whether or not to say the next part. "And they're trying to kill me." The words were a half-whisper, and Joe turned his face away.

Frank was at a loss for words, his mouth opening and closing to the point where he knew he must look like a fish. "Joe." he managed to get out, the word breaking halfway through. He stood up, crossing to the counter in two long steps, trying not to feel hurt when Joe flinched away from his touch. "Joe, we'll fix this, don't worry." Frank didn't know whether he was comforting Joe or himself. This was way beyond everything he had expected, and suddenly, he felt as if he might not be enough.

With their parents gone, would Frank be able to protect Joe?

**Please review.**


	5. Undercover

**I own it not.**

_"It is important to fight, and fight again, and keep fighting, for only then can evil be kept at bay, though never quite eradicated."_ **Dumbledore**

"I don't like this." He knew he was talking to himself. He didn't care.

Frank said the words for the eighteenth time in two minutes, driving slowly, four car lengths away from his brother, who was barely visible even in his red windbreaker. He _hated_ using Joe as bait, and the fact that Joe himself had suggested it had made him even more uneasy, but he couldn't think of any other options.

Joe had told Frank everything three days ago. In that time, Frank hadn't gone to the police. Even though he trusted them ― heck, he worked with them ― he knew that one leak could cost his brother his life. To him, it wasn't worth it.

Right now, the decision not to go to the police seemed like a stupid one. This entire plan was stupid, now that Frank was running over it again and again in his head, seeing hundreds of possible downfalls that could get his reckless, emotional brother killed. One wrong word...

Joe had decided to infiltrate the group. "Just long enough for me to get some dirt on them." Frank remembered his brother shaking as he said those words, though whether with fear or anger Frank couldn't tell. Both emotions had been dominating his brother since he'd told Frank what was happening.

Frank couldn't exactly place his finger on what he was so worried about. They'd both done under cover work before, and Joe had even been a _gangsta'_ (Joe's word) once. He knew how to get out of every situation. He knew how to fight. He knew that Frank would be there as back up. Was it the fact that these kids went to Bayport High that Frank was nervous? That they hadn't told the police? That...that their father was around to help?

"I'm here, Frank." The words were barely a whisper over the radio.

Frank pushed the thoughts out of his mind, his hands tightening on the wheel as he saw Joe turn down an alley. Forcing himself not to speed up, not to jump out of the car, Frank leaned closer to the small radio. They had planted a bug on Joe, which Joe had objected to. Frank had said it was either the bug or no case. He had to know what was going on with Joe at all times. Who knew what these kids could do?

The words were slightly muffled by Joe's jacket. They had hidden the bug ― about the size of a thumbnail ― in the lining of one of his pockets. But Frank could still hear a voice call out, "Hey, get a load of Blondie!" Frank could picture his brother tensing at the comment as he had done so many times before, deciding whether or not to spring.

"Wha'cha doing back here, Hardy?" A low voice permeated the speakers next, cold and menacing. "Didn't get enough last time? Want some more action?"

This time, Joe's body got so tense Frank could hear the fabric rustle over the mic. "I'm joining." The words were decisive, leaving no room for argument. Their father had told them, long ago, that you always had to sound as if you were in charge. As if you knew everything.

He could hear sniggers, a whisper of "Should I hit him?" before the same low voice spoke again. "Why do you think we'd let a little detective like you in?" Frank wanted to get Joe out. This was where he got jumped. It was stupid to think they could do this by themselves...

"Ex-detective." Joe said firmly. "I quit doing that." Frank hoped he was the only one who could hear the lie in Joe's voice. For an under-cover agent, Joe was always a terrible liar.

The low voice spoke again. "That's not what we heard." He could hear footsteps coming towards Joe, the sound of flesh on flesh, a groan, more punches...Joe. Why had he let Joe talk him into this? His hand was on the door handler, ready to forget about the case and save his brother when the low voice spoke again. "You got some moves, Hardy."

Frank let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding when he heard Joe's say, sounding slightly out of breath. "Listen, I can help you. I know how the police work, we can work around them." This was wrong, they shouldn't be doing this. A million reasons ran through Frank's head. He was wishing he'd told them to Joe before he left.

Something was obscuring the mic. Frank's eyes widened as he frantically searched for a signal. What if they found the mic? What if Joe was in trouble? What if he was on the ground, dying right now? Frank couldn't lose Joe...not now...

Frank opened the door. He was going to get his brother. Now. He had one foot out of the car when someone opened the passenger door. "Drive!" Joe's voice was high, and he leaned against the seat, eyes wide, breathing hard.

"What happened?" Frank put the van in gear, hoping that his brother wasn't being watched. He looked him over. A new cut was bleeding o his arm, but other than that he appeared unharmed.

Joe smiled slightly. "I'm in." He closed his eyes, breathing deeply, fishing the bug out of his pocket. "I'm in." he repeated, softer, as if he just realized something.

"You're going to get killed. You know that right?" Frank put a hand on Joe's arm, emotions welling up inside him, coming too quick to identify. He just had to touch Joe now. To prove that he was okay.

Joe opened his eyes, blinking at Frank. "I'd be dead if I hadn't done it."

Frank didn't want to admit that he was right.

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	6. Worry

_"...and to love other people, that love is the answer, yes. I think that's true, because in my own messed-up life the one thing that made it bearable was my brother and the  
closeness that I felt with him." __**Alphonse Gatano**_

"So when are you meeting with them?" Frank handed Joe a small pair of pliers, watching as he twitched the final wire into place. Their father had taught them years ago how to make a bug. Frank had three of the tiny devices in front of him and Joe was just finishing a fourth.

Joe pushed the bug over, scattering Frank's careful piles of supplies. "After school, I think."

"You think or you know?" Frank threw the question out before he even realized that it had been one of their mother's favorite things to say. Joe cringed a little at the sound of the familiar words but otherwise made no comment on their origin.

"I know, Frank." Joe ran his fingers through his hair, a sure sign that he was worried, and began thinking out loud. "Okay, so if today's Tuesday," Frank snorted at the _if_ but fell silent at a glare from his younger brother. "Fine. So today is Tuesday. I have football practice everyday this week because of the championship on Friday." Frank grinned, even though he'd already heard this, and patted Joe on the back. He knew that his brother was proud that he'd helped the football team get to the State Championship.

Joe looked up at him, a half-smile on his face. The most Frank could get out of him now. "Yeah, well, if I have practice tomorrow I'll have to cut in order to go with these guys. Coach will freak. I think that this gang's planning to do...something...over the weekend, so if it's Friday I'm screwed. Oh, and next week's Thanksgiving." He looked at Frank, eyebrows drawn together. "What are we doing for Thanksgiving?"

Frank had given a little thought to this matter and had discussed it with Chet and Callie. Chet didn't want to be alone for his first Thanksgiving without his sister and Joe wouldn't want to be alone for their first Thanksgiving without their parents. So Frank had something in the works. Kind of.

Frank tousled Joe's hair, drawing out a cry of resentment from the younger boy. "Sorry, Little Buddy, I kind of forgot," Frank lied, hoping to surprise his brother the following week. "But I'll think of something, don't worry."

He was actually surprised when Joe's expression cleared up and marveled, once again, at how much faith Joe put in him. He always believed, no matter if they were cornered by a gang of grave robbers or alone for Thanksgiving, that Frank would bail them out.

And, whether in spite of or because of this, Frank usually did, sometimes pulling through by the skin of his teeth, but he always managed to get out. Somehow.

This train of thought brought him back to what Joe was doing. He had already met with these people once and found out the name of their little band or group or whatever. They called themselves The Cavaliers, for a reason so obscure Frank neither knew nor cared about it. They also managed to find out what these people were into ― trafficking black-market drugs, sometimes picking them up, sometimes selling them, and sometimes just stashing them to be picked up later.

It wasn't until Joe had come back from the last meeting that Frank realized how deep they were. He had been in the can, listening to everything they did, one hand of his cell phone (the police station was on speed dial) the other hand on the door handle, ready to leap to Joe's recue the second he suspected something was up.

When Joe had returned, Frank nearly wanted to kill him. Over the one-way radio, he'd figured out everything he could about these Cavaliers, including the fact that the leaders seemed to be older (twenty or twenty-five) and that one of them seemed to hate Joe.

"What was that about?" Frank had shouted at his brother as soon as they were far enough away to talk. Joe looked at him, one eye swollen, the knuckles of his right hand bleeding.

Joe winced a little at the sound of Frank's voice and Frank had to physically remind himself to calm down. One thing he had learned over the months acting as legal guardian to Joe ― you couldn't yell. It got him nowhere but into a shouting match, which would eventually turn into a wrestling match and even though Joe was three years younger he could still pin Frank in less than four seconds.

So Frank took a couple of deep breaths, thinking that this must have been how their dad felt whenever one of them got hurt. His heart had been pounding out of his ribs at the sound of the fight that the bug picked up. He had wanted nothing more than to get out of the van and run to his brother's rescue. Now he was sitting in a van with Joe and he could do nothing but yell. What was wrong with him.

Joe wouldn't meet his eye and his fists were clenched. Frank looked at him and sighed, melting. He ran a hand through his hair distractedly before putting it over Joe's bruised and bleeding knuckles. "I'm not mad at you Joe. I just wish you'd _think_ before you say stuff like that."

Joe mumbled something that sounded like "He started it" which made Frank smile a little. "Joe..." he sighed, feeling his heart rate go back to normal. "Joe..." he began again, trying to get it out. "Just...just be more careful. Your hot head will get you killed one of these days and..." Jeeze, what a wimp he was. "And I don't know what I'd do without you."

Joe cast him a fleeting smile, a rare occurrence these days. He turned his hand so that Frank's palm was in his and squeezed. "I know Frank." His eyes sought his brother's, trying to convey without words that he thought the same thing.

Frank cleared his throat slightly before launching into a spirited discussion about the many illegal aspects of the Cavaliers, which Joe joined in immediately. They both wanted to leave the awkwardness of the previous conversation behind.

Later, Frank wondered if he'd said those things because he _knew_, somehow, that he wouldn't have much more time, if he had known, before it happened, that Joe was being thrown into something that would cost him his life.

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